


Sweet Release – Part Two

by ladydragon76



Series: Sweet Release [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: KINK: D/s, M/M, Warning: Disturbing Mental Images, Warning: violence, kink: master/pet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2148729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> The arrangement is evolving, but it’s everything Prowl needs right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Release – Part Two

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1  
>  **Series:** Sweet Release  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Bluestreak/Prowl/Jazz  
>  **Warnings:** BDSM, Master/Pet, Battlefield Violence, Some Mech Gore  
>  **Notes:** The ever awesome Boots commissioned a second part for Sweet Release, which I was really excited to do! Enjoy!

// _Slagging sonuva-_ //

Ratchet’s curse was cut off as the comms -and all other sounds for that matter- were drowned out by an explosion that left Prowl’s audials ringing.

// _-min’, Prime!_ Ironhide shouted.

Megatron and Prime grappled, kicking and punching from the ground, pounding on one another. The sheer violence of this particular fight was stunning.

Prowl swept his gaze over the battlefield. Something was off. Something was very wrong today.

Jet engines whined, there was a shout, and Prowl swung the barrel of his rifle over Prime and Megatron. It traced a line just ahead of Thrust as he carved an arc through the sky, angling toward Ironhide as he literally beat a path through Decepticons in his attempt to get to Prime.

// _Whoa!_ //

// _Slag me!_ //

//Fragging ‘Con! Eat plasma!// The boom of Cliffjumper’s gun vibrated across the battlefield.

// _Uh… Shit._ //

Prowl turned away from Thrust, leaving the fleeing seeker with three acid pellets burning into one of his wings. Whatever had made _Bluestreak_ curse was far more important.

// _C’mon, bro! We can take him._ //

// _Aerialbots,_ // Prowl said, // _Form Superion and engage Menasor. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, vector right and circle the second warehouse. Gears and Bumblebee are pin-_ //

// _Frag that!_ // Sunstreaker interrupted, firing at Menasor as the Combaticon giant bore down on his twin and him.

// _Yeah, Prowl,_ // Sideswipe agreed, matching his twin step for step, shot for shot. // _We don’t hold him off, he’ll overrun everyone before Superion even gets here._ //

Prowl glanced around and resisted the urge to curse. The twins were right. Slingshot, Air Raid, and Silverbolt were busy with the command trine, and Skydive was dodging Ramjet’s fire. Fireflight wasn’t even in-

// _Superion is a no-go,_ // Ratchet cut in. // _I’ve got Fireflight here._ //

// _Status?_ // Prowl asked.

// _He’ll live, but he’s down. Leave him out of your plans,_ // Ratchet replied.

// _Jazz,_ // Prowl called, but then really did curse as he spotted the Third in Command. Rumble and Frenzy were all over him. Even as Prowl watched Jazz dispatched them, but he was in need of backup himself now. // _Soundwave incoming, Jazz._ //

// _I see ‘im._ // Jazz replied.

// _I can’t get ta him!_ // Ironhide bellowed, then grunted.

// _Prime,_ // Prowl said, tone regretful. // _You need to take Megatron out now._ //

Cliffjumper’s gun boomed, Ironhide’s cannons echoing. Someone screamed, and Prowl couldn’t tell who it had been.

// _Dive!_ //

// _Jack! I need another pair of hands here!_ //

// _’Kay. Gimme a sec. Fire in the hole._ // An explosion rocked the ground, and there was another scream, but this time it didn’t carry over the comms.

A Decepticon, Prowl thought in relief, and fired up at Starscream as he rocketed by in hot pursuit of Air Raid. // _Optimus,_ // Prowl said, optics dropping back to his leader. // _They’re too desperate. End this._ //

// _ **SIDES**!_ //

Prime’s optics paled, and he only just ducked Megatron’s punch, scrambling back to find his feet just to be knocked off them again as he was tackled to the ground. Prowl took aim, sighting carefully though the scope, and squeezed the trigger. Megatron roared, twisting to the side as acid burst and burned into the armor gap at his underarm.

// _Now, Prime._

Prime tore at Megatron, fingers clawed to rip out wires and gouge at optics. The softer silicon of Megatron’s face split open and bled. He bellowed, fists swinging hard enough to leave dents in even the heavy, thick plating Optimus had. Prowl fired again, catching Megatron in the hip while Prime continued to tear at him.

Primus, just _kill_ him, Prowl thought, but Optimus was clearly going for disablement, not death.

// _Bolt! No!_ //

Prowl jerked his helm up in time to see Silverbolt crash into Menasor. The gestalt crumpled, falling into individual mechs, but not out of the fight just yet. Slingshot had already been in a dive after his brother, and air brakes screamed just before he slammed into Motormaster, plowing the mech away from an unconscious Silverbolt.

“Decepticons! Retreat!” Starscream’s shrill voice echoed off the buildings, jet engines whining as he fled.

Prowl turned back to Optimus to see him kicking away from an unconscious Megatron, blaster aimed threateningly at Hook and Bonecrusher as they rushed in to collect their leader. Shoot him, Prowl begged silently, his own rifle aimed. He could see into Megatron’s chest. One shot and this could be over, but Optimus shifted, stood, and unknowingly blocked Prowl.

// _Autobots, regroup,_ // Prime ordered, watching as the Decepticons flew away.

// _Skyfire, I need you now,_ Ratchet shouted.

“Fix him!” Sunstreaker screamed. “You have to fix him now!” His voice was tight, high, almost shrill.

“The frag you think I’m trying to do?!” Ratchet snapped right back.

Prowl’s optics dropped to Cliffjumper. The ground had become a muddy puddle under him, but both Wheeljack and Perceptor were working on him.

// _I can’t get closer,_ // Skyfire said. // _Not without being stuck. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to bring them over to me._ //

“I need another patch please,” Perceptor said, tone incongruously calm.

// _Red Alert to Prowl, all Decepticons clear of your area._ //

// _Thank you, Red Alert,_ // Prowl replied. // _Prowl to First Aid, we are returning to the base with several who are critically injured._ //

// _I’m ready, sir,_ // First Aid said.

“I’m going to fragging sedate you, if you don’t back the fuck off, Sunny!”

“Ironhide,” Prowl said.

“Yeah, I’m on it.” Ironhide stomped over to Sunstreaker, lifting him bodily out of the way so Ratchet could keep working on stabilizing Sideswipe while Bluestreak, Smokescreen, and Skids lifted the red warrior and began carrying him toward Skyfire’s hold.

“What were they after?” Optimus asked, barely audible under Sunstreaker’s screams.

Prowl looked up at him in silence, then followed his gaze. He didn’t know. There were a few warehouses here, but nothing else. No oil refineries, no power plants, nothing special at all. There weren’t any humans here, the place was abandoned, the warehouses empty of anything of value. Megatron hadn’t even brought some new weapon of his own along to test.

“Come, my friend,” Optimus said, his hand landing on Prowl’s shoulder before he began limping away.

Prowl gave the area another long look, hearing Skyfire’s engines roar as he took off, rushing the injured back to the _Ark_.

Why had the Decepticons been so hell bent to fight them off from this place? What were they planning now?

What had he missed?

~ | ~

“Sit the frag still then so I can fix it!”

Prowl’s optics went straight to Ratchet as he entered the medbay, the smell of burnt wiring, charred plastics, and old fluids smacking him in the face.

“The others,” Optimus began, pulling his leg away from Ratchet. “They need-”

 _Clang_! “I said sit the frag still!”

“Ratchet,” Prowl said softly, trying to mask his own shock that the medic would actually cuff their Prime in the side of his helm. He stopped beside the berth Optimus sat on, spark throbbing harder than it had before he’d entered the all too familiar horror show that was the medbay after a battle with the Decepticons.

“Prowl. About frelling time. I need you to second my removing this moron from duty at least until I can finish the fragging repairs.”

“That won’t be necessary, Ratchet,” Optimus said.

“Then sit still,” Ratchet growled. He paused in his work, glaring with optics more pale than usual up at Optimus until large, battered hands lifted in surrender.

“How is everyone?” Prowl asked, hearing his voice as the others around him did, calm, soft. Was it any wonder they laughed that he was a drone?

Ratchet flicked a glance at him as he bent back to work on Prime’s leg. “They’ll live. I had to sedate Sunstreaker, and I might just keep him that way for a few days until Sideswipe is out of the woods. Cliffjumper guttered, but he’s a tough little slagger, and between me swearing at him, Primus, and Unicron, we managed to stabilize him. He’s on a spark monitor for now, and should make a full recovery, but it’s going to be weeks before I let him off that berth.”

Prowl took in the medbay, forcing himself to really look. Cliffjumper, for all that he really was a very sturdy, tough mech, looked tiny and broken on his med berth. Wires and tubes connected to his open helm and disappeared under the dust cloth draped over his chest. A spark monitor showed the slow, mostly even, pulse of his spark, the light of which lit the cloth from beneath.

Right next to Cliffjumper lay Sideswipe, and on another berth, pushed close in a way that showed Ratchet’s care despite all the bluster, was Sunstreaker. Sideswipe’s chest was covered too, his spark monitor showing a more regular pulse. The lower half of his right leg was completely missing, and the thigh was crumpled. Menasor’s handprint. Sunstreaker’s bright golden plating was marred by dried energon, mud, and Primus only knew how many other fluids or to whom they belonged. He was dented and scraped, but the worst of his damage was unconscious beside him. Prowl understood why Ratchet would sedate him.

Wheeljack had streaks of scorch marks across his back, and when he moved, his weight shifted quickly off his left leg. He was dented and scratched, but the energon on him seemed to be confined to his hands and forearms that Prowl could see. Vocal indicators flashed a bright blue, and Wheeljack’s laugh drifted over the buzz of conversation. It was loud in the medbay, Prowl realized, as he watched Bumblebee swing a foot and smile up at Wheeljack through the jagged laceration on his face.

So many of the Autobots were in there waiting for their repairs. So many.

“Ow!”

“My apologies,” Perceptor said.

“No, mine.” Tracks winced, sucking a sharp breath in through an intake. “I’m afraid that pain block is already wearing off. I didn’t mean to move.”

“Hey, Prowler,” Jazz greeted, pulling Prowl’s attention from the wounded.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Ratchet growled.

“Wassat, doc?” Jazz snickered, looking up at Prowl as he tapped an audial. “Me an’ Soundwave got inta it a bit. He was a bit fragged off about me puntin’ his brats. Havin’ trouble hearin’.”

“Gonna give you trouble,” Ratchet muttered.

Jazz gave no sign of hearing him, and Prowl scowled.

“Don’ worry, babe.” Jazz waved a hand dismissively and grinned brightly. “Self-repair’s already on it, and once I run a reboot in the mornin’, I’ll be right as rain.”

“How is your team, Jazz?” Optimus asked, voice louder to accommodate the audial damage.

The smile dropped off Jazz’s face. “Bee’ll be fine, Hound’s a bit dinged, but we’re a little worried about Raj.”

“Mirage will recover,” Ratchet said. “First Aid is looking after him now.”

Optimus’ helm turned and his shoulders slumped a bit as he looked over the injured for himself. Prowl forced his expression to remain neutral. There really were just _so many_ wounded. In fact, there were only three completely unscathed. Red Alert since he’d remained at the _Ark_ , First Aid as he had been in the medbay prepping for the Autobots’ return, and Prowl himself.

His spark squeezed in again on itself, and Prowl cycled his vents carefully as Jazz’s fingers curled around his wrist and gave a comforting squeeze.

“Blue’s ok,” Jazz murmured.

Prowl nodded, and tried to find comfort in that fact. They had all lived. No thanks to him, of course, but they were alive. He’d misjudged somewhere, and not just about the Decepticons’ desperation. He’d miscalculated, missed a detail. Primus, he hadn’t even known Fireflight was down when he ordered Superion to battle. What else had slipped by him?

He had failed them all so completely today.

Jazz tugged at his wrist, but Prowl locked himself in place and refused to budge. “Is there anything I should know for my reports, Ratchet?”

Ratchet gave a brief negating jerk of his head. “They’ll live. Cliffjumper, Sideswipe, and Mirage are going to be down the longest. I’m about to kick Optimus out of here.” He looked up at Prowl, optics sweeping him and accompanied by the tingle of a scan. “Medical orders. You get a cube, then get some rest. I do not need you dropping on me.”

Prowl dipped his chin. Energon he could do. Rest would be later, after he’d written up the battle report.

“I mean it, Prowl.”

“I got him, doc bot.” Jazz pulled, harder this time, smiling still, but there was a glint to his visor.

“Understood. Please call me if there are any changes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Out.”

“C’mon, Prowler.” Jazz tugged, and Prowl allowed himself to be relocated.

Once they were in the hall, Prowl said, “I must file my reports.”

“I know. I’ll go get us some energon, then let ya work, but I’m comin’ back at bedtime ta drag ya home. Got it?”

Prowl managed a slight smile. “Got it.”

~ | ~

Jazz did indeed have to come drag Prowl to bed, but he returned to his office at dawn. Reports from nearly all of the officers covered Prowl’s desk. He had started with Jazz’s reports, knowing how thorough and accurate the mech was, poring over them again and again, searching for clues, trying to find that one piece of the puzzle that would make the picture clear.

But there was nothing.

Jazz described his movements and what he saw as he fought, plus his general impressions, but there were no new clues. Rumble and Frenzy had tackled him, and in Jazz’s words, had ‘really meant it as they pounded’ him. Luckily, they were small, and despite the viciousness, Jazz had been able to rebuff them. He’d dislocated both of Rumble’s arms, rendering his pile drivers useless, then grabbed Frenzy by a leg and slammed him to the ground. The blow knocked the Cassetticon unconscious, but had angered Soundwave. There Jazz’s battle took on the added dimension of fighting off a psychic attack as well as getting himself out of the tight grip he was caught in. They’d resorted to sonic blasts, both trying to outdo the other, and had been deadlocked until Starscream called the retreat. The ‘taste of panic’ in Soundwave’s EM field was also noted, but Jazz couldn’t tell whether that was over the mech’s creations or something else.

Jazz reported that he’d stumbled back as Soundwave grabbed Rumble and Frenzy and launched, dizzy and a little ‘out of it’. He had found Mirage, unconscious and bleeding, and carried him to where Ratchet was, then began emergency patches himself since all of the medics were busy.

But there was _nothing_ that hinted at what the Decepticons were after.

Prowl growled, and slammed the datapad down, then scrubbed his face and cycled his vents. Giving in to frustration would not help him find the answers. He picked up the next datapad and switched it on.

Ironhide’s report was succinctly Ironhide.

**Battle started and I fired at the seekers until I was close enough to the ground troops to knock some helms together. Smacked around the jumpstarters, then saw Prime was in trouble with Megatron. Waded through the Cons trying to get to him to help, but Onslaught got in my way. Blasted him good, but before I could knock Brawl out of the way, Starscream was shrieking for the retreat. Cons took off. They were fragged today, almost desperate like.**

Desperate. Panicked. Words Prowl himself had associated with the Decepticons even during the battle.

Prowl shook his helm, and finished reading Ironhide’s report. He was in charge of infantry, but since he was often on the front lines himself, keeping track of ground troops fell to Prowl once mechs spread out. Ironhide had seen Tracks take a shot to the middle, and knew Trailbreaker had saved Smokescreen from a serious hit in the first big explosion, but that was it.

Again, no clues. No new puzzle pieces.

Next up was Red Alert’s report. He had watched from the monitors as Sky Spy recorded everything from above. Prowl felt his hopes rise, as he read. Red Alert’s report did include some new information. Sky Spy had spotted the Decepticons and alerted the Autobots as the satellite was programmed to do, and had also recorded everything from that moment until Prowl himself transformed and drove away, the last to leave the battlefield.

Prowl watched the recording, optics devouring the images. There were the Decepticons, Megatron shouting into Starscream’s face, the seeker bent backward a little, hands up, wings angled away in an instinctively submissive posture. Megatron jabbed a finger at the middle warehouse, and Decepticons moved in. There was nothing telling until the alarm went out that the Autobots were coming. Megatron gestured. Soundwave pointed. Starscream waved an arm and launched into the air with the other seekers.

Prime stepped forward, and Prowl knew what he was saying, or what he’d meant to. Before Prime could do more than say Megatron’s name, that fusion cannon had fired right at him. Autobots scattered, and only an instant later all five Aerialbots, Skyfire, and Powerglide took to the air. It quickly descended into chaos.

Desperate, Prowl thought again. It was the only way to describe how the Decepticons fought this time.

Fireflight went down, and the corners of Prowl’s mouth tugged down more. How had he not seen that? He was right there. _Right_ there. Primus, there was no excuse. And there. Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp twisting and whirling in a dogfight with Silverbolt, Slingshot, and Air Raid. It was Skydive that had screamed as he was shot down, and Skyfire that saved him from an impact that very well may have cost him his life. Wheeljack tossed a small explosive that blew Vortex and Scavenger back. Menasor used Sideswipe as a bludgeon, his leg crumpling and then the lower half wrenching off at the knee as he was swung at his own twin. Prowl could remember Sunstreaker’s scream, and now knew that was because Menasor was about to stomp on the red mech as he lay like a broken doll on the ground. Sunstreaker fired wildly, Silverbolt and Slingshot trying to help him. Menasor was only knocked off balance for a moment, but too focused on Sideswipe to be deterred.

Prowl watched again as Silverbolt threw himself bodily into Menasor. It was a precision attack, and the Stunticons fell to the ground, Silverbolt tumbling down with them. Slingshot tore into Motormaster, then the Decepticons were gathering their wounded and fleeing after Starscream’s thrusters.

The video was enlightening in that it showed Prowl just how out of touch he had been from start to finish, but it still told him nothing about _why_ the Decepticons had been there in the first place.

“Hey, Prowler!” Jazz called out as he entered the office.

A cube of energon was placed right in front of Prowl, and he looked up to see a bright smile that did nothing to hide Jazz’s concern. Prowl couldn’t help a slight grin himself. Just seeing Jazz lifted his spark. “Thank you.”

“Been workin’ hard, I see.” Jazz waved at the pile of datapads. “Stopped by the medbay, so I’ve got Ratchet’s report, but he told me not ta give it to ya ‘til ya refueled and recharged. Said that everyone’s still stable. He let Sunstreaker wake up, but hasn’t bothered kickin’ him out. He’s behavin’. Everyone’s recoverin’ apace and all.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Prowl didn’t particularly feel like drinking the energon, but he knew he needed it. It was hard to believe it was so late in the afternoon already. He bit back a sigh, not wanting to worry Jazz, but this was just another mark against him. Over twelve hours and he was no closer to an answer than he’d been that morning.

“I talked ta Blue,” Jazz said. “He’s up for a little get-together if ya want.”

Prowl blinked at Jazz. Bluestreak. Oh, Primus, yes. He _needed_ what Bluestreak could give them. His spark leapt, and Prowl drained the energon. “Yes. I would very much like to see Bluestreak tonight.”

Jazz quirked a grin. “Thought ya might. Think he needs it too.” He stood, and Prowl followed suit.

“He’s upset about the battle as well?”

“Usually is, and yesterday was more chaotic than usual.”

Wasn’t it just, Prowl thought, and walked beside Jazz in silence to Bluestreak’s room.

“Hey!” Bluestreak greeted, stepping back to let them into his quarters. “Glad you guys could make it. I could use some company tonight.” He paused, then added, “Whatever form it takes.”

“I believe we’re willing to play if you are,” Prowl replied, and took his customary spot on Bluestreak’s sofa. “I know I could certainly use the break from my worries.” It cost him something to admit it, but the rule was honesty. He would keep his guilt to himself, however. It was horribly selfish of him to be here when so many were still in the medbay, but Bluestreak needed it too. A justification, but true nonetheless.

Jazz sat beside Prowl, and nodded in agreement. “Make me scream, frag me inta the floor. Need it ta hurt.”

Bluestreak was nodding too. “I think I need to make it hurt.”

Prowl shivered, but stopped himself from asking for it to hurt him tonight too. He thought he deserved a whipping, but that wasn’t his agreement with Bluestreak. And perhaps he didn’t deserve the relief? He was most certainly too afraid that if he brought it up, not only would he be denied, but they would end up discussing it instead of Bluestreak and Jazz getting what they needed. Prowl couldn’t do that to them.

When Bluestreak rose and pulled out a crop and length of rope, Prowl knelt on the floor beside Jazz and offered his collar silently.

~ | ~

Jazz’s visor lit and a smile curved across his mouth as he spotted Prowl. He nudged a cube of energon along the table. “Bet ya need that.”

Prowl sat in his customary place at the conference table and smiled his gratitude. “Yes, thank you. I have been rather busy going over the reports and surveillance.”

Jazz’s smile faltered around the edges. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Prowl’s spark squeezed, and he reached under the table to touch Jazz’s knee. “I don’t mean to neglect you,” he said softly as the other officers entered.

“Ain’t that, babe.” Jazz’s hand covered Prowl’s. “Worry about ya is all.”

“I’m fine, Jazz. My concerns lie with those still in the medbay, and just what the Decepticons are trying to do now.” Prowl tipped his helm toward Ironhide and Optimus, both of whom showed the raw silver of weld lines, heavy plating still dinged as their dents healed. Prowl slid his gaze from them to Ratchet and Wheeljack. They were both still showing signs of battle damage as well.

“Ain’t even been a full three days, love,” Jazz said. “Healin’ takes time, but we all will.”

“This time,” Prowl replied, optics falling on Red Alert as he entered. He looked as harried and tense as Prowl felt.

“Prowl-” Jazz began, hand tightening on Prowl’s.

“Let’s get started,” Optimus said, unknowingly saving Prowl from what was likely to be a very concerned lecture.

Giving Jazz’s knee once final squeeze of reassurance, Prowl pulled his hand back, and thumbed on his datapad.

“First,” Prime said, “how are the wounded?”

Red Alert fidgeted, arranging and rearranging the small stack of datapads he had brought with him. Ratchet eyed him for a moment, and Prowl wondered if he had also seen that telltale spark off Red Alert’s audial horn. Probably. Ratchet didn’t miss much when it came to his patients.

“Recovering,” Ratchet answered. “Sideswipe’s lower leg is scheduled to be reattached this evening. He’s stable enough that I’m going to have Aid take lead on the rewiring. Sunstreaker’s still under my aft every time I turn around, but if all goes well, I should be able to wake Sides the day after tomorrow and kick the golden glitch out of there without us having to worry about him ending up in the brig.

“Cliffjumper’s spark has stabilized, but there’s some deeper substructure damage I want to continue to let his self-repair handle before we begin to weld his aft back together. His laser core armoring did its job, but the pressure it put on the crystal played havoc with his protocols. His systems _thought_ he was dying.” Ratchet squeezed the bridge of his nose, and Prowl noted how dim his optics were, his plating was cleaned up from battle, but still dull. “Once I have Sideswipe conscious, we’ll start on Cliffjumper provided he continues to improve.

“Mirage is stable and conscious, but there’s a break in his motor relays somewhere. Nothing on the left side is mobile. Perceptor’s on it, and really, it’s just a matter of tracking the fried circuits down and replacing them.” Ratchet laced his fingers together on the table in front of him. “Time consuming, but beyond that and some therapy to make sure everything reintegrates properly, he’ll be up and moving by the end of the week.”

“Tracks?” Ironhide asked.

Ratchet nodded. “I tossed his aft out this morning. He’s on strict orders to recharge and stay off his feet so none of the welds separate, but I can probably clear him for duty in three or four days. Depends how well he listens to me.

“Everyone else is out and fine. I’ll need to check Bumblebee’s wrist, but only Tracks is on the ‘do not attempt transforming’ list.”

“And you, Ratchet?” Optimus said, deep voice soft and concerned.

The medic gave them all a wry grin. “Oh, I’m fine.” He flipped a hand toward Wheeljack. “Jack force-feeds me, and Aid manages to make puppy eyes at me despite the visor. I’ll recharge for a week when the work’s done. More importantly,” he said, narrowing his optics at Prime, “how are you?”

Prime chuckled. “Behaving as my doctor ordered.” He turned to Red Alert next, every one of them able to see that their Security Director was about to explode from his need to give his report. “Red?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m very happy to hear everyone’s recovering. I’ve always had faith in Ratchet’s abilities. However, my concerns are for our safety,” Red Alert said, speaking quickly. “We have _no_ idea what the Decepticons were up to, and I can hardly believe we’ve waited three entire days to begin an investigation. They could be doing anything right now.”

“We’ve been watchin’ ‘em, Red,” Jazz interrupted. “Sky Spy’s synced over the warehouses, and as soon as we can, we’ll get out there and check them.”

“Well, as soon as we can should be yesterday,” Red Alert huffed. “Does _anyone_ know what they were doing? Do we even know what’s in those buildings? No, we do not.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Red Alert,” Prowl said. “I’ve been over the logs and reports and there is truly nothing to even hint at Megatron’s newest goals.”

“Thank you!”

“A’right,” Ironhide said. “Lemme grab up some mechs and head over there. We’ll be out the door in ten. Pits, I’ll take Sunshine with me, get ‘im out from under Ratch’s aft.” He snickered.

“I believe something a little more covert would be ideal,” Prowl said. “The Decepticon forces might not have returned, but Laserbeak or Ravage could be guarding the site.”

Red Alert shook his helm, the gesture almost violent. “We don’t have time to wait on Mirage’s recovery.”

“Forgettin’ about me, my mech. I can go,” Jazz said, and Prowl felt his spark stutter and the energon in his lines turn cold. “Ain’t like I don’t have practice sneakin’ around the ‘Cons.”

“Yes. Perfect. You go.”

“Red,” Optimus chided. “I do agree that Jazz would be our best bet, but let’s not ignore the risk in our haste to get answers.”

Red Alert crossed his arms over his chest and slumped back in his seat.

“Shouldn’t be too hard.” Jazz grinned. “Sneak in, peek around, sneak back out. I’m thinkin’ we might needa extend my trip a bit though.”

“What do you mean?” Prowl asked.

“Well, we’re assumin’ all the answers are there in those warehouses,” Jazz replied. “I think I oughta go take a look, then head down ta the ‘Cons’ ship for a little look around there too.”

“That would be exceedingly dangerous.”

“Danger’s my middle name, Prowler.”

Prowl’s lips pressed together in a flat line of displeasure, but he nodded his assent. The part of him that was the pragmatic Autobot Second in Command knew that Jazz was right and that he was their best option. He knew it would be no less dangerous for a freshly recovered Mirage to go, and in truth Jazz thought better on his feet. Prowl ruthlessly crushed down the voice that screamed in his mind that it was too dangerous, that Jazz wouldn’t come back. He would be killed, or worse- captured, information extracted, then killed, and Prowl would never get to hold him again.

“Very well,” Prime said. “Use every caution, Jazz. Gather intel, nothing else unless it’s absolutely imperative.” He paused, optics hard and slightly narrowed at his Third. “ _My_ standard of imperative, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Jazz replied in all seriousness. “No ‘Con baitin’. In, out, back with the info. Won’t even have time ta miss me,” he added, and cracked a grin.

Optimus nodded, then dismissed the meeting.

Prowl took his time gathering his things as the others all filed out.

“I’ll be back, love. Promise,” Jazz said once they were alone.

Prowl reached out, nudging the lower edge of Jazz’s visor. When it rose out of the way and he could look into Jazz’s optics, he said, “You better.” He leaned and pressed a soft, warm kiss to Jazz’s lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

~ | ~

Jazz should be to the _Victory_ by now, Prowl thought. Hours before, just as the sun was beginning to set, he had received a ping, just a quick blip of a signal that told him Jazz was alive and moving on. There would be no communication until Jazz was approaching the _Ark_ , and that could be days- a full week yet. Possibly even longer depending on how things went.

Prowl cycled his vents, then again, sighing deeply, thumb rubbing absently along the edge of the datapad he had been compiling information on. He blinked, then glanced down. Primus, how long had he been staring at the wall like that? He should be… Something. He should be doing something. He had work to finish. Gazing into the wall like it would offer him answers if he just glared at it long enough was not going to help.

Where was he?

Oh yes, the reports from the other Autobots he’d interviewed. There had to be something in their words, something that could help them, help Jazz.

Of course, Jazz was working with his comms off now, so the information would be too little, too late. Which, Prowl thought, was him assuming that he could even find that missing piece and parse it. He shook his helm. They should have worked on a better plan. He should have required Jazz give him a prospective outline of where he was going to search for intel in the _Victory_ , and in which order. That way if -Primus forbid it- Jazz was trapped, Prowl would know the general area to start the search for him.

Prowl gave his helm a hard shake. No, that wouldn’t have worked. Jazz was impulsive, a professional, but he was highly spontaneous, and would have thrown out the list of where and when the moment he saw a better option. Which was exactly as it should be. Jazz was an expert. He might not have Mirage’s electro disruptor, but he was far and away the best spy the Autobots had ever had. Prowl was doing him a disservice by doubting him and worrying so much.

However, hadn’t they all been caught by the Decepticons in some harrowing situation or another from time to time? Jazz more often than many others. Spies and scouts were at greater risk of being found where they didn’t belong because that was their job. Even the best were captured.

Jazz could even now be in Decepticon hands.

Prowl winced as the sound of crunching metal replayed in his mind. He flattened his hands against his desk and dragging a careful breath in, then released it. It was a sound he’d heard far too often in his life. He could hear Jazz’s startled cry of pain, smell the burn of wiring. There was a difference, he realized now that he was thinking about it. Jazz’s cries when Bluestreak lashed him were completely different from the shock of pain from a plasma bolt.

He would give anything if only his mind would replay Jazz’s yelps and sobs from a session with Bluestreak instead of these sounds of true pain. Prowl buried his face in his hands, and tried to breathe.

Jazz wasn’t a prisoner being tortured. He was even now sneaking through the corridors, unseen, safe. Prowl repeated the words, murmuring them to the surface of his desk until they lost all meaning and the scent of charred wiring faded.

~ | ~

“Prowl?”

Prowl looked up and offered Optimus a smile. “Come in, sir.” He stood and gestured to the seat in front of his desk, ignoring the stiffness in his joints and cables. “What can I help you with?”

Prime sat, one ankle crossing over the opposite knee. “I thought I should come see how you are doing,” he said as Prowl retook his own seat.

“I’m well, sir, thank you. How is your recovery going?” Prowl could see that the dents were healing well, the welds absorbing into Prime’s plating as his self-repair used the material to seal the wounds.

“I’m fine,” Optimus said with a wave of his hand. “I’m more worried for Jazz than myself. I know there is nothing we can do but wait, but you know how I hate sending any of you into danger.”

Prowl’s spark felt weighted in his chest, but he managed a nod. “There is nothing else we can do. Jazz is our most capable spy, and arguably more familiar with the _Victory_ than even Mirage. I have the utmost faith in him and his abilities.” He did. He _really_ did, and Jazz would be fine.

Prime chuckled a little, thankfully unaware of the turmoil twisting inside his Second in Command. “I’m a worrywart. Which means I worry about everyone, including you. You’ve been working some pretty long hours these past few days.”

Prowl lifted and waved a datapad. “My last one for tonight. Once I’m done, I’ll take a break.”

Optimus rose, so Prowl did too. “See that you do, my friend. If nothing else, think of our poor, harried medic, and the blistering curses he’ll abuse your audials with if he catches you overworking yourself.”

Prowl laughed. “No one wants that. Just this last report. Promise.”

Prime waved as he exited Prowl’s office, optics brighter than when he entered. Prowl sat back down, intending to exactly as he’d said, but then the next report was right there, then the one after that, and despite his determination to finish, his mind kept wandering to Jazz.

~ | ~

“ _Jazz_!” Prowl yelped. He stumbled, tripping over the leg of his chair and falling back into it, elbow slamming the edge of his desk.

His vents were loud in the surrounding silence, and it took Prowl more time than he would ever want to admit to realize that he was in his office. He had dropped into recharge at his desk. Primus, what time was-

Nearly midnight.

Prowl stood, rubbing his elbow. He needed to finish cataloguing the new information, but he was distractingly hungry. As late as it was the common room should be quiet. A cube, a short walk to help shake off the tattered remains of his dream, then back to work. Sideswipe had said something interesting…

Prowl stopped himself from lifting the datapad. He would look when he returned. Prime had made a very valid point yesterday- no, the day before? Ratchet really was going to have Prowl’s aft in a sling if he couldn’t even recall the day.

Energon. Yes.

Ratchet really did have enough to deal with, and Prowl did not want a rant directed at him. He was exhausted, worried for Jazz, and wasn’t entirely sure he could control his own temper if he got into a confrontation with a screaming medic. Unfortunately, he had too much work to do yet. He could recharge once Jazz was home safely. It wasn’t as though Prowl had never worked long hours before. He would be fine. Besides, his recharge wasn’t restful anyway, which was why he had remained in his office instead of returning to his empty quarters. His imagination was bound and determined to torment him with nightmarish images of the worst case scenarios. Jazz beaten and bloody. Jazz chained to a rusty Decepticon wall. Jazz calling his name, voice weak and static-filled. Megatron’s chilling laughter.

Shaking off the images once more, Prowl entered the common room and headed straight for the energon dispenser.

“Oh hey, Prowl,” Bumblebee called out.

“Hello,” Prowl replied, giving a nod to Bumblebee, Smokescreen, and Skids.

“Awful late for you, isn’t it?” Skids asked.

“File work,” Prowl answered with a slight twist to his lips. It fell woefully short of the wry smile he’d meant it to be, but he didn’t think Bumblebee or Skids had noticed.

Smokescreen rose and crossed the room to lean against the counter beside Prowl. “Looking a bit stressed there, Prowler.”

Prowl’s lips compressed into a line. That was Jazz’s name for him, and no one else’s. “I am never relaxed when an Autobot is in a dangerous situation.”

“Hey, we’re all worried about Jazz,” Smokescreen said, his voice low and body angled toward Prowl. He was too close, his energy field brushing against Prowl’s intimately. “Not going to do anyone any good though, if you burn out.”

“I am not in any danger of that,” Prowl replied, but even as the words came out, he wondered if he was telling a lie.

A hand stretched out and covered Prowl’s where it rested on the counter while he waited for his cube to fill. Stunned, he let Smokescreen’s touch linger a moment. “I could help you relax.”

Prowl jerked his hand away, and stepped to the side. The cube wasn’t completely filled, but he took it anyway, doorwings flicking as though to sling away the offer before he could stop the rather rude gesture. “I appreciate your concern, but that won’t be necessary.”

Smokescreen grinned, optics shifting from Prowl’s doors to his optics, his own doorwings fluttering. “The offer stands.”

“Thank you. Good night.” Prowl turned away, plating clamping down reactively as a fingertip dragged out along the underside of a door. He clenched his jaw and kept walking. A glance showed Bumblebee and Skids immersed in their board game and completely unaware of the tension.

Prowl cycled his vents. It was not worth getting upset over. Smokescreen had always been flirtatious, and different mechs blew off steam in different ways. Interfacing was a popular way to do just that, one Prowl himself engaged in.

But only with Jazz. Primus, but he missed Jazz.

~ | ~

Prowl lurched in his chair as a hand and energon cube suddenly appeared.

“Whoa there, Prowl.”

“Bluestreak!” Prowl blinked a few times, resetting his optics. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you enter, I was-”

“Staring off into space?” Bluestreak cut in with a soft, concerned smile. “When was the last time you recharged? Or refueled?” He rounded Prowl’s desk and picked up one of his hands, placing the energon in it. “No one I’ve talked to has seen you in days. Have you been in here the whole time?”

Prowl frowned down into the energon as he tried to recall. He’d gotten energon and been propositioned by Smokescreen, then come back to his office. That had been…

Huh. Three days? Prowl didn’t particularly want to admit that out loud.

“Where’s your collar, Prowl?”

Optics snapped up to Bluestreak’s face. “My quarters.” Prowl’s spark lurched. Was he supposed to keep it in his subspace at all times? He hadn’t been told that, and since Jazz wasn’t around, he didn’t think he would need it with him. “Why?”

Bluestreak smiled. “Good. Let’s go get it.”

Prowl opened his mouth to protest. He had so much more work to get done. He was doing his job as well as Jazz’s, on top of gathering more information and compiling it, but Bluestreak nudged his hand, and pointed at the energon. “You should drink that first though.” The words were spoken with that edge to Bluestreak’s voice that Prowl had come to associate with an order during one of their sessions. It had, until this very moment, only ever been directed at Jazz.

The cube was drained quickly, and Bluestreak smiled, then held his hand down to help Prowl up. “Come on. I think you need a little help relaxing. I know I do, but I don’t want to really talk about why. Unless you do?”

Prowl shook his helm, following Bluestreak from his office. They walked side by side, and Prowl unlocked his door when they reached it, stepping back to allow Bluestreak in ahead of him.

“Make sure it’s locked,” Bluestreak said. “Or would you rather go back to my quarters tonight? Personally, I’d rather be here since you have your own washracks, but I’m good with whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

“Here is fine,” Prowl replied, and went to fetch his collar. He hurried back then knelt on the floor in front of Bluestreak, the collar presented in the palms of his hands.

Bluestreak smiled and crouched down in front of him, gently taking the collar. “You’re ok with this tonight?”

“Yes,” Prowl answered, having to bite off the ‘master’ that wanted to escape. He didn’t have the collar on yet.

“Jazz isn’t here, and we’ve never discussed you having private sessions.”

“Are you alright with it?”

Bluestreak grinned. “Yes. And I think Jazz would understand too, but what you think is important, so tell me the truth. Do you want to do this? Are you worried at all about Jazz being upset?”

Prowl’s optics dropped to the collar. Jazz _would_ understand. In fact, he would probably be more surprised and worried if Prowl turned Bluestreak’s offer down. “I want this,” he said, looking up into Bluestreak’s optics. “Jazz won’t be upset, but I think once he returns we should all sit down and discuss this.” There was a part of Prowl that had been growing stronger since they began these sessions, and he didn’t know if it was _just_ mutually beneficial play anymore.

Bluestreak responded by easing the collar around Prowl’s neck, the delicate links clinging as he locked the clasp. Prowl sighed, feeling the tension leave his frame as though someone was pulling a heavy blanket down and off of him.

“Come with me, sweetspark,” Bluestreak said, hands finding Prowl’s and tugging.

Prowl opened his optics, following as Bluestreak led him to his washracks. How many days since he’d last washed? Shamefully, he realized it had been over a week. Granted he had done nothing but sit at his desk and work, but it was a hard truth that he really had _needed_ Bluestreak to come and save him from himself tonight. He hadn’t been taking care of himself at all, and his doorwings sank in guilt as he admitted it.

“I’ve not been looking after myself very well.”

“No you haven’t,” Bluestreak agreed, a harder note in his voice.

Prowl’s doors sank even lower as Bluestreak turned on the water. Steam rose instantly, a benefit of pumping water through an active volcano. They were never short on gloriously hot water.

“Over here.”

Obeying, Prowl shivered a bit as the water struck his plating, then poured under it. Bluestreak didn’t speak as he soaped up a soft bristled brush, then tugged Prowl from beneath the spray and shut it off. His touch was infinitely gentle, the brush spreading suds in little circles from head to foot. Prowl stood docile, shivering again as Bluestreak’s thumbs rubbed over the sensitive, thin metal of his chevron. No spot was spared from his tender attentions. Jazz liked to ‘help’ Prowl wash, but even at his most solicitous, Jazz wasn’t so entirely _thorough_.

Bluestreak washed Prowl’s face, his neck, his helm. He worked his fingers into gaps and around cables, pausing now and again to turn the water back on and rinse Prowl off so he could check his work. Cables that had grown tight and knotted were smoothed out. Grit and grime was scrubbed and washed from nooks and crannies Prowl hadn’t even known he had. By the time Bluestreak knelt at his feet, lifting first one, then the other to clean them, Prowl felt weak in the knees. He was warm, relaxed, and more than ready to crawl into his berth and recharge.

“There,” Bluestreak smiled, as he finished a final rinse. “All clean.”

“Thank you,” Prowl murmured, voice a sleepy purr.

Bluestreak’s smile widened. “Stay with me, sweetling. We still need to get you dried.”

“Yes, master.”

Prowl shifted and posed as directed while Bluestreak buffed the water from his plating as completely as he’d washed him. Never before had Prowl bothered with lifting his armor plates -the ones that could lift without medical tools- just to dry off, but Bluestreak ordered it, and so he obeyed.

“Do you have a stool?”

“No, I’m sorry I don’t, master.”

“Hm.” Bluestreak chewed his lower lip, then motioned Prowl to follow him. “We’ll make do then.” He led Prowl back to the front room, and pulled out the small desk chair. “Sit backwards on this.”

Curious what else Bluestreak had in mind, Prowl did as he was told. Only a moment later he caught the clean, citrusy smell of polish. He recognized it as Bluestreak’s own preferred scent and brand.

Tiny circles were worked all over Prowl’s body, leaving his plating covered in the dull, chalky white of the polish as it dried. Bluestreak smiled and cupped Prowl’s face with one hand while he rubbed his chevron to gleaming crimson before moving on to the rest of his helm. He stepped behind Prowl, working down and over his shoulders and back. Prowl hadn’t known he had yet more tension stored up in his frame until it was buffed away by sure, comforting hands. He was all but in recharge by the time Bluestreak told him to turn in the chair so he could polish the front of Prowl’s torso and pelvic plating.

“Prowl.” Bluestreak chuckled softly. “Come on, sweetspark. You can’t sleep there, you’ll undo all my work.”

Prowl peeled open his optic shutters and stared up at Bluestreak in confusion for a moment.

“Come sit on the couch with me.”

“Yes, master.”

Bluestreak held onto Prowl’s hand, guiding as he took a seat on one end of the sofa. “Lie down.”

That was an order Prowl could obey. Not as though he had been anything but pliable so far, but lying down and getting to use Bluestreak’s lap for a pillow was bliss. He curled up, knees pushing against the back cushions, arms tucked up in front of his chest, and doorwings hanging loosely behind him.

“Here.”

Something pressed lightly against Prowl’s lips and he opened his mouth, optics opening too when he recognized the bite-sized gel treat. He took it, offering a grateful half smile.

One of Bluestreak’s hands settled warmly on Prowl’s shoulder while the other stroked his helm. “You’re so good, Prowl.” Bluestreak’s hand moved, then returned with another energon goody. “There’s no one else that could do the things you do, you know that? This base, the Autobots as a whole, would fall apart if we didn’t have you. I don’t think you know how much you’re really appreciated. Mechs don’t say it because you’re not the sort people come up to and gush gratitude at, but they feel it. We all know how important you are.”

Prowl stared hard at the back of his sofa, optics tracing the weave of the dense fabric. Bluestreak wouldn’t lie to him, so he had no choice to believe that _Bluestreak_ believed what he was saying, but Prowl wasn’t sure he did. Mechs complained about him. They mocked his rules. They called him emotionless, and cursed him for enforcing regulations.

“I can see those gears turning, sweetling,” Bluestreak said. “We need you. Even the ones that are jerks about it, or can’t admit it. Which is why I’m really disappointed in you.”

Prowl’s optics snapped up to Bluestreak’s face, a slight tremor following in the wake of the ice that ran through his lines. “Master?”

“You’ve been a very bad pet, not taking care of yourself properly. You admitted it, so I know you know.”

A hot tear rolled across the bridge of Prowl’s nose and down his cheek to splash onto the red of Bluestreak’s thigh. Those gently spoken words hurt more than any lash or crop ever could.

“How do you expect to look after all of us if you aren’t going to keep yourself in top form?”

A thumb caressed away another tear, but Prowl couldn’t meet Bluestreak’s optics anymore. He curled down, tucking his face in against Bluestreak’s hip and trying to hide as his vents hitched. Another catch and gasp, but Prowl tried to fight it, his whole body trembling, but he was failing. Again. Still. Tears poured from burning optics, and Prowl gave in and wept. He cried until he felt even more wrung out and exhausted than he had before.

Bluestreak stroked his helm and softly crooned some soft, old lullaby as Prowl began to calm.

“I’m sorry, master.”

“I know, sweetspark. I want you to look after yourself better though now. I’ll help.” Bluestreak nudged Prowl’s chin up until their optics met. “I forgive you. You really were very good tonight, letting me help you and take care of you. I liked that.” He brushed away the dampness from Prowl’s face, then offered another treat. “One last goody, then I think we ought to get some recharge, hm?”

Prowl took the treat, letting the sweetness of it dissolve on his tongue. Bluestreak then helped him up and led him to his berth. Prowl felt as though he was on autopilot as he followed, disconnected from reality and half-floating. The low lights of his rooms glowed strangely, sounds were alternately muffled or startlingly clear. Crawling onto his berth was a fight against gravity, his own limbs too heavy and sluggish and uncooperative.

“Sleep sweet, Prowl.” Bluestreak leaned over him and dropped a light kiss on Prowl’s forehelm before winding his arms around his shoulders to hold him close.

“You too, master.” Prowl’s fingers reached up, sliding over the warm metal of his collar. He exhaled a shuddering breath, and shut his optics.

“You’re safe,” Bluestreak whispered. “Everyone’s safe, and tomorrow, after a full night’s recharge, you’re going to be able to protect us all even better.”

Prowl’s vocalizer seized, so he settled for nodding.

~

Prowl didn’t remember dropping into recharge, but he was surprised to discover he had indeed slept the whole night.

“Good morning,” Bluestreak murmured.

“Good morning. Master.” Prowl smiled a little, snuggling in to greedily steal one more moment before they had to return to the real world.

Bluestreak chuckled, holding Prowl back in a tight hug for a minute before pulling away. He sat up and reached into his subspace, presenting two cubes. “Breakfast is served.” One cube was held out to Prowl while Bluestreak drained his quickly, then stood.

Prowl sat up, sipping the energon and watching as Bluestreak went into the washrack. The water came on for only a few seconds, then Bluestreak reappeared, a damp cloth in hand.

“Let me see that face.”

Optics shutting, Prowl tipped his face up even as it heated in embarrassment when he realized just why Bluestreak had that cloth.

“There. All better.” Bluestreak smiled and kissed Prowl’s mouth. “Now finish your energon. I let you recharge as long as I could, but your shift starts in ten minutes.”

Startled, Prowl checked his chrono. Primus, he was late! At least his version of late since his idea of ‘on time’ was usually a few hours _before_ his shift was to start the last week or so. He downed the energon and scrambled off the berth, aiming for the door.

“Prowl.”

Prowl froze, hand coming up to touch his collar as he remembered it was there.

Bluestreak laughed. “Are you ready to have that off?”

“Yes, master,” Prowl replied, and knelt at Bluestreak’s feet.

The collar was removed and placed back in Prowl’s hands. He tucked it in his subspace, and accepted Bluestreak’s hand back to his feet.

“How are you feeling now?”

Prowl cycled his vents and really took stock. “Much better, thank you. I’m still worried about Jazz of course.”

Bluestreak nodded, and headed for the door. “Yeah. Me too, but ya know, it’s Jazz. He’s the best at what he does, and he’ll be back soon and have all kinds of stories about his adventures. And you know he’s going to have a _ton_ of stories as long as he’s been there. I’m sure he’s seen all kinds of crazy slag from those ‘Cons while waiting for his chance to sneak here or there. Bet he’ll come back with all kinds of information too.”

“No doubt.” Prowl unlocked his office, a little surprised as Bluestreak followed him in.

“Anything I can help with?”

Prowl stared down at his desk and the scattered datapads. “Well, I suppose if you really want to?” He checked the schedule, and yes, it was Bluestreak’s free day. “You certainly don’t have to, you’re off duty today.”

“I want to.”

Prowl smiled, spark swelling a little with gratitude and affection. “Very well.” He picked through the datapads, checking to be sure he had grabbed the right ones, then held them out for Bluestreak. “These need to go to Prime for signatures. Then these are for Red Alert.”

“Perfect!” Bluestreak hugged the datapads to his chest. “Just consider me your assistant today. I’ll go take these to Prime since he’s just down the hall, then go see Red Alert. I think I’ll stop by the common room and grab him a cube. You know he’s about as bad as you, maybe worse, with that whole overworking thing. Once I’m sure he’s ok though, I’ll swing back by Prime’s office and sit until he signs off on these so I can bring them back. Sound good?”

“It sounds perfect.”

“Great!”

Bluestreak was almost out the door when Prowl called out to him. “Thank you, Blue.”

A bright smile lit Bluestreak’s whole face. “I like helping.” Then he was gone, one doorwing flagging cheerfully in farewell.

Prowl chuckled, and got back to work, genuinely able to focus better than he had all week.

~ | ~

// _Hey, honey, I’m home!_ // Jazz crowed over the comms.

Prowl’s spark lurched, and he was up and out of his office, striding purposefully down the corridor in seconds. // _It’s good to hear your voice, Jazz. Welcome home. Status?_ //

// _A-ok, Prowler. Better call an officer’s meetin’ though. I got big news that ain’t like ta wait. Hauled aft back here._ //

// _Understood. We’ll convene in the conference room._ // Prowl sent out the notice to Prime and the other officers, changing direction himself. He was the first to arrive, but only a few short seconds later, Jazz was bouncing through the door.

“Prowl!”

Prowl caught Jazz in a tight hold and pressed his face into his neck. “I missed you,” he whispered, then held on and simply breathed Jazz’s scent in. He was road and sun warm, smelling of the tar and asphalt with a lingering hint of sea water. “Primus, I missed you. I’d have been lost without Bluestreak, but we can speak more on that later.”

“Missed you too, babe. And good. Glad Blue was here with ya. I was worried about ya. Know how ya stress, but it went smooth on my end. I got a haul of info for us too.” Jazz pulled back, their hands reluctantly sliding off one another, but the others would be arriving any moment now. “Managed ta set a few surprises in places that’ll look like systems failures. Those should start happening in a day or so an’ keep the ‘Cons off our backs while we figure out what ta do with what I brought back.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Prowl said, then leaned in to steal a kiss. To the Pits with being caught. Jazz tipped his helm, pressing in, lips parting softly and tongue tracing a line along Prowl’s upper lip.

“Love ya. I’m ok.”

Prowl smiled. “I love you too.” He pecked one final kiss then stepped back just as the door opened to admit Prime and Ratchet.


End file.
